We Are A Hurricane
by Summersetlights
Summary: Elijah Goldsworthy isn't looking forward to the day where she doesn't want him anymore, so he doesn't waste the time that he does have with her.


**_Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi_**

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><p>He always wonders if it is normal to feel this way about someone. He isn't sure, but it feels so oddly right to just…sit with her. The boy has always been one for movement, but only on the days he can get out of bed. He likes to keep active if he can, but when she plops her pretty self on his bed, with a light smile drawn on by the most skillful hand, he doesn't want to move. He never can. Because her dress rises up and reveals her pale and smooth legs that often wrap around him when he pants above her, with his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. And then, she raises her eyebrow. Oh, the eyebrow is something dangerous. It was purely a twitch of a muscle, but it makes Elijah Goldsworthy twitch somewhere else in response…<p>

"We need to stop this." She now says, but continues her sharp and dangerous ministrations on his neck. He moans in agreement, but not caring to do anything to stop it. They aren't dating, but they aren't friends. They are caught in a rut of lust, with love on the side.

He flips her over, so that she's on top, shining in all her glory. There is something about the sight of seeing her on top of him, with her face flushed and her hair just messy enough to produce dirty thoughts in his head. She is iridescent, and he is blinded. And when her swift and graceful arms pulls her floral dress over her head, his head starts to pound, and his heart starts to race, and his whole body is on fire. She is smiling, just smiling, and he can't breathe and he knows that this isn't just lust.

Once she is vulnerable, with her bare skin glowing, he traces shapes into her soft flesh. She sighs and looks down at him, her eyes searching for something, something that he isn't sure of. The boy glances back, sweat bubbling at his fingertips, and he swears that she is looking into his soul, not that he believes that there is much there, but what is there, she has. She takes something away from him each time she looks at him.

When she lowers herself on top of him, he gasps. It's like they are doing it for the first time. And when her head tilts back, with her mouth open in a perfect oval, he grabs her hips, just to make sure that what is happening is real. Her hands are in little fists on his chest and the way they clench together so hard that her knuckles turn white, makes him smirk and his male satisfaction flares. She is feeling pleasure because of him, all because of him, and he feels something burn in his stomach. She is his, and she will only be his. She has to be, and he tells her that she is his as she moves over him. She mutters incoherent words, and he tells her again and again, until she says yes.

She is his.

All his.

And then when they come to a stop and their breaths are shaky and spent, she spreads herself on top of him, her heart against his. And they mutter back and forth and shining melodies float throughout the night air. She shivers and something about that makes his guard lift and fly away with a screech. She is vulnerable and lovely, and he is nothing and isn't anything special. He is a boy, a boy of no importance and of no patience. He is an angry young man that only knows of hate and war, with a little bit of horror mixed in. He is nothing in a way. In a way where the matter that he is built up of is weak and is moving on. It is like smoke of a campfire, it's floating away and he can't catch himself. He is a broken kid that can make the earth drop with a flick of his wrist.

He still is not anything special, he thinks as she sleeps over him, but he feels better with her around. Her name is Clare Edwards and he thinks that he's in love. She calls him Elijah and he's not really sure why. It just slips out of her mouth when she gets angry and her veins are pulsing and so is he. He tries to keep his mouth shut when he's around her. He tries not to talk and to not make a fool out of himself, but that has become difficult over time.

Right now, she thinks of him as something of importance. Maybe it's the way he smirks or the way he inhales the wretched smoke of his cigarettes. But he doesn't want to see the day when she realizes that he's a bitter boy who tries to catch himself, but finds broken matter of a broken soul. She's innocent. She's not naïve, but she's pure. And he's not important enough to even be black and blue. He's grey, a cold and hard grey that breaks hearts of people that somehow grow fond of him.

He wants to tell her to stay away and to never come back because he'll hurt her. One way or another, he'll hurt her and he knows it. He can feel it. But he can't let go of her. She's something that he can't imitate or find again. She's rare, a once in a lifetime thing, and he has to take it, even if it hurts her.

He wants to promise her that he won't hurt her now, but she's sleeping, and he has a feeling that this will be the only peaceful time in their relationship. He pulls her in closer, making her warm, and he squeezes her. Not for her benefit, but for his.

He places a kiss on her forehead and it's an, "I'm sorry for loving you." kiss, but she stays asleep and doesn't notice, and Eli doesn't want to see the day where she does.


End file.
